Black Death
by Kerrigore
Summary: A bounty hunter makes his way in a unforgiving universe.
1. Black Death Prelude

Black Death- Prelude  
  
"1 will pwn joo n00b!"-Battle cry of the unskilled  
  
Jace Winson strode down the dull gray hallways easily, like a man completely comfortable with both his life and his surroundings. Nor was this terribly far from the truth; Jace was a bounty hunter, and, in his opinion at least, quite a skilled one. Unfortunately, most of those who could attest to Jace's prowess we're either dead, imprisoned, or in no state to do so reliably. Of course, one could take this fact itself as undeniable proof that Jace was indeed skilled. None of which really mattered at the moment, of course, as the matter at hand was not one of doing his job, but rather one of getting paid enough for doing it to keep himself both in food and in gear; both of which were, due to his aforementioned profession, equally necessary to his surviving for more than a month. Jace paused, reading a faded (or perhaps just deliberately obscure) number on a door, made of the same dull gray material. Satisfied, he hit the release, and with a hiss of air the door whooshed open. And so begins Jace Winson's story. 


	2. Black Death Chapter 1

Black Death- Chapter 1  
  
"I'll pay you one of these days."-Creed of the bureaucrat on a budget  
  
I slid into the office, not entirely comfortable. Which, for one such as myself, is quite an unusual frame of mind. There was something about dealing with bureaucrats that always put me on edge, however. The man siting at the desk gave the impression that you could find near-perfect copies of him in offices all over most of the Confederacy; in other words, he was of indeterminate age wearing a moderately expensive business suit, with hair coloured hair and eye coloured eyes. He didn't even look up when I entered, leading me to believe that he had not noticed me. This theory was also supported by the fact that he seemed to be engrossed in a stack of papers on his desk. Although, upon reflection, since his office seemed to contain nothing BUT stacks of paper, this was not entirely unusual. Of course, why he wasn't using digital recording devices along with the rest of the galaxy was another question altogether. Then again, Bureaucrats WERE always the last ones to accept change. And most seem to have a perverse addiction to giving out paperwork.  
  
After standing there for several moments without any sign of recognition, I decided that rather than stand there all day, I would risk an interruption. I cleared my throat politely; or, at least, as politely as possible given that I was trying to resist the urge to reach over and teach him some manners in the way I am most accustomed; which is, to say, physically. At last he seems to realize that someone is there. Not that there was any physical reaction; he still continued to read the papers. But since he did bark out a quick "Name?", I figure he probably knows I'm there.  
  
"Jace Winson", I reply in what I hope is a surly but suitably polite tone.  
  
The suit still doesn't look up, but he does pull out a data pad. Glory be.  
  
"Your business?"  
  
At this I resist the urge to tell him that since he is the one with all the paperwork, he should be able to find that out for himself. Instead I growl "I'm here to get paid."  
  
He taps a few keys on the pad, and still without so much as acknowledging my presence with a glance, he nods to himself and reaches into a drawer in his desk. His hand emerges with a standard, non-descript credit stick. He pushes it across the desk to me, and resumes perusing his documents. I glance at it, and with some disgust I notice that it was nearly two thousand credits short of what was upon.  
  
"This isn't what I was promised!" I snap before I can stop myself. I attempt to salvage this gaffé with a belated ".Sir", but he doesn't seem to care, as he replies almost immediately with  
  
"I'm afraid you'll have to take that up with you're contact. I'm just the paymaster."  
  
I snorted to myself mentally; Yeah, right. As if I had a few days to waste chasing paper trails. probably to no avail. I wasn't going to solve this with words. Outright violence would also be a mistake, however. Threading my way through the paper littering the floor, being none to careful of my muddy boots on any stray papers, I covered the distance between the door and the desk so quickly he doubtful never even noticed me until my shadow blocked out his light. I leaned over the table and said in my softest, most dangerous voice,  
  
"Are you shorting me my fee?"  
  
He shirks away as if slapped. Not surprising for several reasons. One, I doubt he ever had to deal with many physical threats in his life. Especially not with security a button press away. But since I hadn't actually threatened him, there wasn't much he could do about it. yet. The second, and probably more persuasive reason, however, was quite simple. I had not showered in around a week, and for nearly half that time I had been piloting a ship, confined in close quarters with a close-circuit are recycler. which wasn't great at reducing smells. In other words, I had developed a very unique odour of my own which, needless to say, was far from pleasant. No doubt the stench had been slowly working it's way across the office towards him since my arrival, and I had just hastened it.  
  
"Er. no, of course not. Mr. Winson" he choked out, looking back down at the pad.  
  
"How about we give you another thousand as a bonus, and leave it at that?" he squeaked out.  
  
You notice that he is now asking ME if the fee is acceptable.  
  
I grinned my most menacing smile, and said  
  
"That'll be just fine."  
  
It was probably the best I was going to get out of this rat.  
  
He quickly made the adjustment, and I snatched up the credit stick, and flashing him one last devilish grin, I tossed him a wave and left the office. I needn't have bothered; he had gone back to his papers. Returning to my ship at last, my business completed, I thought happily to myself about the new upgrades this payment would buy, and set off to fill my belly and then get roaring drunk. 


	3. Black Death Chapter 2

Black Death- Chapter 2  
  
"I have a bad feeling about this." - A running joke from a galaxy far, far away.  
  
I strode into the bar on Antiga with a whistle and a grin. I stopped just inside the entrance to the smoke-filled cesspool of morally degenerative filth and peered through the gloom around at the bar's occupants. No sooner had I determined that the being I was looking for was most definitely not present at this time, then I found said being behind me with a rifle to my back. Unsurprisingly, not one of the patrons at the aforementioned bar felt the need to so much as glance in my direction. While I have never enjoyed having a weapon pointed at me, I feel particularly disturbed seeing as how the one doing the pointed is supposed to be my friend. Now if you're wondering how I know this given that I can not see behind me, let's just say that this friend has an... unmistakable odour of his own. "Turn around, Jace. Slowly." grates a voice from just behind me, and If I had any doubt about the identity of my assailant, this cleared it up. I simply could not believe that there could be two beings in this universe, as crazy as it is, that had a voice that sounded quite like that. Which is, to say, like a rock stuck in a meat grinder. What did disturb me however, was that this voice had called me by name, which ruled out any case of mistaken identity, and greatly diminished my chances of being alive a few hours from now in my opinion; which is, as aforementioned, not an entirely ignorant one.  
  
Seeing little choice given my position, I turn around to face the voice, making sure not to appear to be reaching for my weapon. "Hello, Wimd," I say with a calmness that would surely startle anyone who does not know my reputation as a fearless bounty hunter "Fancy seeing you here, old buddy." Now for those of you who have not had the dubious pleasure of associating with my friend Wimd, there are a couple things you should know about him. First, he is about 7" tall, with pale white skin, and a face that would make even the ugliest of mugs cringe away. In other words, it is strongly rumoured that his mother put a bag over his head when she kissed him good night. The other thing is that he is one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet, which given his profession, comes as quite a surprise to most people. But I'm still standing there, with him no doubt wondering why I am staring at him, and I drop my eyes to the floor. "Hmm. I can't say I was expecting to see you again, [buddy]," says Wimd with more than a touch of sarcasm, "You'd better have my cut." He says this last while giving me a little jab with his rifle, giving me the impression that should I not have his cut, things may not go well for me in the immediate future. "Hey, man, you know how I feel about people being shorted..." And with this I reach into my pocket and pull out a credit stick and hand it over to Wimd. You see, I had come there that day expecting to have to pay him... although I must say I was not expecting him to be so adamant that I do so.  
  
I feel the rifle tip lower, as he has no doubt ascertained that the due credits are there. "Lets take a booth and catch up then, Jace," breathes Wimd, and I feel compelled to agree, seeing as he still has the rifle in his hands. We reach one of the far booths, one dark enough that even the most unsavory of business could be conducted there without the knowledge of anyone watching. We sit down, and Wimd places his rifle on the table facing sideways. According to custom, I take my pistol and do likewise. "I have to say, I never expected to see you again so soon" gravels Wimd while fingering a mug full of god-knows-what-and-I-don't-want-to. "Well. this isn't exactly a social visit." I say with some trepidation. Considering the circumstances this meeting started with, I am starting to have doubts that asking Wimd to help me is really in my best interests. "You wish to hire our services again?" Rasps Wimd, betraying nothing. That's another thing about Wimd I've never gotten used to. he swears he has an invisible friend. Maybe someday I'll ask him why. preferably when I'm armed and he isn't. But he is still waiting for my answer. "Yes.", I say, not wishing to give away too much just yet. 


	4. Black Death Chapter 3

Black Death-Chapter 3  
  
"What could possibly go wrong?"-Last recorded words of Icarus  
  
Wimd stares at me for a few moments, then takes a swig from his mug. He then sighs contentedly, and wipes the slimy green residue from his face. Trying not to think about what kind of drink would leave a residue quite like that, I watch him expectantly for his response. Knowing Wimd, he would give it when he was good and ready, and any further details would probably just work against me. Wimd was a creature of honor, and once he pledged to assist me, he would stand by that statement. unless, of course, he decided that the best way to assist me would be to withdraw his aid, therefore working to convince me not to attempt whatever current project I was recruiting for.  
  
You see, while most people think of Bounty Hunters as solitary people, surly, rude, and nonchalant, the reality of the situation is quite different. A bounty hunter's biggest assets, aside from a ready gun and a fast ship, are those people who, either by loyalty or money, have decided to watch his or her back for them. A bounty hunter of any success inevitably makes innumerable enemies, many or all of which are in a position to do him great harm, and so without someone to guard them in times of need, how could a lone bounty hunter survive?  
  
A few notables had done so, of course, though their careers were usually more spectacular than particularly long-lived, but common wisdom suggested that making allies was a bit safer. Thus surrounded yourself with those who have a vested interest in jumping in front of a bullet or six for you, instead of wishing to put them there themselves. There was always the chance of betrayal, of course, but usually such an occurrence was an act of a desperate man (or woman), and usually such a betrayer was hunted down for revenge before too long; no bounty hunter wanted the kind of chaos that would result from unanswered betrayals.  
  
But Wimd was answering me at last. Sighing once again, he gravels "We guess we knew we would end up helping you with one crazy scheme or another as soon we saw your ship on the landing register."  
  
He declines to add and I decline to comment on the fact that my ship underwent frequent ID transponder changes, theoretically making it untraceable and therefore unnoticeable on such a landing list.  
  
"What is that that you wish of us?"  
  
I smile inwardly and explain my plan.  
  
Several weeks later, I find myself sitting the pilot chair of my modified V- 86 Stealth Assault Ship in deep space, staring across at an apparently deserted world, orbited by several equally deserted moons. OF course, I know that in this case in particular appearances are deceiving, and that just over the horizon of the world, masked by the gravity well and atmospheric interference, lay no fewer than half a dozen ships. One of them belonged to Wimd. One to another of our mutual associates, a young but talented bounty hunter by the name of Raven. The rest were merely hired guns. something I tried to avoid in most situations, virtue of them being less than reliable when large sums of money were involved (most were slightly more inclined to risk being hunted than a bounty hunter). But to bring in this particular quarry, a larger force would be required both to deal with any escort and to allow for a larger web of capture.  
  
You see, one of the most recent bounties had been placed on a corrupted bureaucrat by the name of Rillin Steppe. Evidence had been found of his dealings with the underworld, and exposed to the public, but Steppe had fled to unknown places, taking with him a sizable portion of the local militia that he had swayed to his cause. Both the Confederacy and the Outer Rims Directorate had posted bounty. Of course, given that the Confederacy had far more sway these days, their offer was by far the more compelling. both politically and monetarily. But since the tip that had led him to this place had come from ORD, I did feel slightly compelled to deliver Steppe to them. Provided, of course, that the tip proved true and Steppe actually did show here.  
  
No sooner had I thought this then several ships flickered out of transwarp, brought out by the planet's gravity well. Immediately the sublight engines flared, slowing the residual velocity. I quickly reduced the ships into individual models, and appraised them.  
  
The largest ship was what appeared to be a standard, if slightly weathered, combat frigate; not quite a capital ship, but not small enough to be discounted as a threat.  
  
The escort consisted of, as I had anticipated, several small destroyers and corvettes, each with a complement of one man fighters aboard. Far more than necessary to defend Steppe from the casual pirate attack, which showed one of a few things.  
  
One, someone -most likely Steppe- was in charge that lacked much military knowledge. Two, he merely being overly cautious. Or, lastly and least likely, that he had been tipped off to our attack and was prepared for it; I doubted this, not because I had any particular trust in the informant at ORD or in the hired gun's trustworthiness, but because I had not informed by compatriots of the location ahead of time. And since I had only received the information shortly before my return to Antiga to recruit Wimd, it was highly unlikely that any information could have reached Steppe this quickly. not any that would offer the kind of proof that would result in this. I had, however, anticipated this. Mostly because it was unlikely that any commanders of note had been swayed to Steppe's cause.  
  
Putting all this out of my mind, I noticed that several of the support ships were setting down on the planet's surface, no doubt to set up camp. Steppe was here to meet with a representative from a local illegal arms cartel to negotiate a deal the would result in the cartel offering their protection to Steppe in return for his help in securing several new supply routes. The cartel, however, were not due to arrive for another few hours, leaving a large window of opportunity. once which I intended to take full advantage of. Keying the comm for the secure channel already agreed upon, I raised the mic to my mouth and uttered the one word everyone was undoubtedly waiting for; 


	5. Black Death Chapter 4

Black Death-Chapter 4  
  
Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me alone-Common Bounty Hunter saying  
  
*** Viewpoint in the beginning of this chapter is Rilling Steppe ***  
  
Rillin Steppe sat in his overlarge command chair and stared out with impunity at his crew that was working efficiently to speed them on their way. This bothered Rillin; he liked to have something to criticize. What good was having a crew that worked without error, so that he had no one to scream at, punish, or ridicule? With a shudder, the ship dropped out of transwarp. Finally, thought Rillin to himself. It had seemed like that cursed jump would take forever. And, more importantly, it gave him something to complain about.  
  
"Why was that re-entering so bumpy!" he screamed at the nearest crew member, who also happened to be the ship's navigator.  
  
"I. I don't know," sir stammered the crew member. "Perhaps the ship's shock buffers were mis-aligned." The crew member knew very well, of course, that this shudder was an inevitable side effect of the massive de-acceleration required to exit transwarp. Rillin Steppe knew this too. Not that it did the poor crew member any good.  
  
"Well see to it that they are repaired"! screamed Riddin, adding "In fact, do it yourself! You're relieved of duty until it is done to my satisfaction! You should be glad it isn't permanent!"  
  
The crew member gave Rillin a sloppy salute and a bemused "Yes, sir", and left to complete his new task.  
  
Rillin made a mental note to check up on the crew member later and scream at him some more. For now, however, his concentration was fixed on the forward viewer; more specifically, on the planet. Why aren't they here yet? Rillin wondered snappishly to himself. It was just like them to be late and keep an important man like himself waiting. He would have to make sure he drove an extra hard bargain in repayment for this gross discourtesy. Rillin resigned himself to a wait, and ordered his ships to stop and wait. Their escort formed up around them.  
  
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, six medium-sized lithe, deadly looking ships sprung out from the planet's horizon and masking gravity well, blasting towards their convoy. Three more sprung out from behind the moons, heading towards Rillin's escort from the other side, boxing them in. Immediately, alarms began blaring all across Rillin's frigate. Almost as quickly, the ship jumped to red alert and crew members ran for their battle stations. Confused, Rilling Steppe stared about himself in wide-eyed befuddlement. Someone was attacking HIM? How dare they! Well, whoever they were, they would be made to pay for it. dearly! thought Rillin to himself.  
  
*** View point now switching back to Jace Winson ***  
  
Coaxing as much speed as I could out of the upgraded engines, I swung my ship, Shrike, towards the huddled convoy even now was just beginning to show signs of activity, as the unprepared ships drifted into battle formation and sluggish engines warmed up. No doubt wraiths squadrons would soon be swarming from the fighter bays, but the advantage of surprise was ours. And I intended to use it.  
  
"All ships, fire at will. Try to destroy any fighters before they get organized., " I ordered over the tight beam radio. Of course, all the members of our little attack group had been fully briefed on the battle plan ahead of time. Multiple times, in fact. But it never hurt to give a little reminder right before battle. Even outgunned as they were, the escorts could prove quite dangerous if given time to organize and regroup. I watched as the ships from the moons engaged the rear most escorts, executing maneuvers intended to draw the escorts as far away from the frigate as possible. Whether or not these tactics would work was questionable, but even if they didn't the escorts would no doubt be far too busy to assist the beleaguered combat frigate when Raven and I boarded it.  
  
Moments later, the ships from behind the planet engaged the bulk of the escorts, which had indeed managed to launch a number of wraiths. Not that it would help them much, at this stage. The escorts were as good as dead, and they must have known it. But, like most soldiers, they would still fight to protect their "leader". I grinned to myself, picturing what Rillin's face would look like right now. I only knew the man from pictures and brief descriptions, but I knew enough to get an idea of his personality.  
  
No doubt he would be screaming for his "Glorious Forces" to attack. The fool would have no way of knowing how outmatched he was. Directed my ship between the otherwise engaged escorts, I remained unchallenged by any of the defends as I angled towards the frigate itself. Raven flew on a parallel course, also heading for the frigate. As I approached firing range, I powered up the main cannons and set them on autofire. I wasn't planning on doing any real damage, so the moderate accuracy of my AI program would do. More to the point, I needed my full concentration on piloting close enough to board the ship without getting myself vaporized by the considerable armament of the frigate itself.  
  
Heading for the rear docking ports, I signaled to Raven to do likewise. Hitting the inter-ship comm, I yelled "Alright, ladies. Get ready for some action. So stop jerking off and grab your OTHER guns. We're about two minutes from go-time, and I want the other side of the airlock secured as soon as possible."  
  
I was, of course, speaking to the small complement of mercenary marines I had brought aboard. Normally I would not have need of such men, but the bounty was large enough that I could afford to have a few assurances. It sure beat trying to capture a ship with a crew of nearly a hundred by myself. As I approached the docking port, I unbuckled my straps. Setting the ship to dock, I grabbed my weapons and light armour, and, strapping them on, headed for the access port leading to the main airlock. I grinned and thought to myself Alright! This is more like it. Some real action instead of flying around pushing buttons. 


End file.
